


Forecast

by checkthemargins



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:45:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/checkthemargins/pseuds/checkthemargins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys get into a bit of trouble in America. Nick freaks right out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forecast

**Author's Note:**

> I'm calling this immersion therapy and leaving it at that. For lazy_daze, who prompted hurt/comfort, and who was kind enough to Britpick for me. :)

**Forecast**

"Nigella makes it all look so easy," says Nick. Thurston, sprawled next to him with his chin on Nick's knee, looks up at him mournfully. On the screen, Nigella is cutting vegetables in a very intriguing way. She makes it look so fun, really, all this cooking, which is just absolute shit. His stomach is rumbling, and as his kitchen currently has a box of porridge oats, three cans of coke, and tea in it, he's mostly wishing that Nigella took house calls.

"Grimmy!" Aimee calls from her room, and then there are footsteps getting closer. Thurston lifts his head and starts to wag his tail, and Aimee saunters into the living room in her pajamas, wireless hair straightener in hand. She claps it menacingly at Nick, who raises an imperious eyebrow and wonders what he could bribe her with to get her to make him dinner. "Put it on the news, yeah? I want to see the weather forecast."

Nick rolls his eyes, nudging Thurston, whose tail is now thwopping against the cushion very loudly. "It's been raining for the last two weeks," he tells her. "It'll be raining for the _next_ two weeks."

"Just let me see it," she orders, and clicks her straightener at him again. He goes cross eyed and sticks his tongue out at her, but reaches for the remote and flips the channels to the evening news.

Sure enough, the forecast for the foreseeable future is torrential rain. Aimee looks disgruntled. "I've just bought that new dress! I'd like to wear it."

"You can wear it."

"It needs _sunshine_ , Nick," she says. "It's a sundress."

" _You're_ a…" he trails off, which is to be expected, as the pretty newsreader has just mentioned One Direction. Aimee laughs at him, but it turns quickly into a gasp when the image in the corner of the screen shows a sleek black SUV turned on its side, smoking and _crushed_ , and several ambulances.

"…According to sources, the band was on their way to an interview when another driver ignored a traffic light. There's no word yet on the state of any member of One Direction, but we do know that there was at least one serious injury."

"Oh my God," says Aimee.

" _Harry_ ," says Nick. It's barely a whisper, his voice all caught up in his throat. His heart's dropped so far he's pretty sure it's rolling around in the soles of his feet and there's a vice suddenly gripping his lungs.

"Oh God," Aimee's saying. "Oh God, how long ago did it happen?! Where did they take them?!"

Nick's mobile is suddenly going insane, vibrating right off the arm of the couch and onto the floor. Thurston, apparently in tune to Aimee, jumps down from the sofa and runs to her, yipping in a weird, high-pitched way. Nick's hand is shaking when he swipes his phone from the floor. Texts are pouring in from his friends, his family, people asking about Harry and Nick is going to _throw up_ because this isn't right.

"I'm sure he's fine," Aimee says, suddenly at his side. She sits down next to him and wraps her arms around him. "Nick, I'm sure that he's fine."

"Look at the _van_ ," Nick argues, voice hysterical. He's trying to remember if Harry's ever said anything about what side he sits on, and even then if it matters, since one was crushed by another car and the other was smashed into the ground when the van rolled. He looks at his phone helplessly, willing it to ring, for Harry's stupid picture to pop up. "Oh my God, oh my fucking God."

He unlocks it quickly and scrolls through his recent calls, finds Harry at the very top—"I just spoke to him a few hours ago!"—and dials. It rings, and rings, and rings, and Nick's eyes are burning, his entire body trembling.

"It happened two hours ago," Aimee tells him weakly, her own phone out and a Chicago news website pulled up.

He'd have called, is all that Nick can think. If Harry was okay he would've _called_.

He jumps up from the sofa because he needs to move, to _do_ something. He ends up pacing the living room, calling everyone he knows even slightly connected to the band. It makes him feel only mildly better when none of the other boys answer either, but that brings on a whole new set of worries. What if it's one of the others that's seriously hurt? What if Harry never gets over it? What if the news is wrong and none of them survived and the entire band is gone and _Harry is dead_ and the UK will flounder and sink into the ocean in mourning and Nick will never, ever, ever be okay aga—

His mobile scares the ever-loving shit out of him when it suddenly lights up and starts to ring ( _You think you're a man but you're only a boy, you think you're a man but you're only a toy_ ).

"Louis," Nick answers, breathless.

"Nick!" Louis voice says. He sounds absolutely over the moon to be speaking to Nick, which is certainly nothing he's ever been before. "Hey!"

"Is Harry all right?" Nick says at once. It's awful of him, really, because Harry wasn't the only one in the crash, but he can't stop himself.

"Harrrrr-yyyyyy," Louis offers, uselessly, and then coughs a little and hums. Nick fights not to throw his phone into a wall.

"Louis, are you all right?" he asks through grit teeth.

"I'm good. I'm very good. I'm not…quite sure what I'm supposed to be doing? I think I'm—Hey, hey, Nick, is your show on? The Breakfast Show? Play that song. The Primadonna song. It makes Niall dance."

He starts to giggle like an idiot, and Nick can't even find the _words_ , but then he hears Louis protest as though from far away and then another voice says, "Nick?"

"Liam," Nick says, voice weak. "What's—"

"Sorry, Louis's on morphine—"

"Is Harry—"

"He's all right. He asked me to call, but Louis overheard and—"

" _Leee-yum!_ " Louis sing-songs.

"—anyway. His phone was lost in the crash, but he's all right, I promise."

Nick sinks to the floor, quite literally, the relief so profound it buckles his knees. "They said. The news—"

"Yeah, sorry, they wouldn't let us ring anyone for a long time. Harry knew you'd be worried. They're just getting him fitted for a cast now."

Nick makes a little whimpery sound that he'll never admit to. "What happened?"

"We were at a junction and this bloke was distracted by his kids in the back seat and didn't see the light go red. He hit us pretty hard."

"I saw the van."

"Yeah. Harry and Lou were sitting on that side. Harry broke his wrist and Zayn's arm is broken. We're all a little busted up. Louis's got a concussion because he smashed his head off the window before it broke, and he and Harry both got cut up by the glass a lot. Niall and I were in the middle."

"Are all of you okay?" Nick asks. "I mean, is that the worst? They said someone was in critical condition."

"The other driver went through his windscreen," Liam answers, and Nick lets out a relieved sigh and doesn't even feel guilty about it. "He'll be okay though, he's out of intensive care now."

"Okay," Nick says, swallows hard. "I. I just—"

"I promise that he's all right, Nick," Liam says earnestly. Nick can just picture his face, the way his expressive eyebrows must be drawn together.

"Liam," Louis says in the background. "Liam, Liam, I need to. I need to just. You have something on your—"

"Shh," Liam tells him, and there's a soft smacking sound like a kiss and it's _not fair_ because Nick should be there to kiss Harry. "Go to _sleep_ , Louis, you need to rest. How are you even still awake?"

"Inner strength," Louis answers, and then he's laughing again, his voice much closer. He must be climbing all over Liam.

"Nick, you still there?" Liam asks.

"Yeah."

"Harry'll only be a little bit. He's going to ring you from Lou's phone, okay? I have to go, though, Niall's getting stitches and I don't want him to be alone. Will you be okay?"

Christ. Nick nods, swallowing hard, and belatedly says, "Yeah, I'll. Yeah, I'm fine. Just. Just tell him like, I love him, yeah?"

"'Course," Liam says. "I'll talk to you later."

"Bye, Liam."

"Bye Nicholas!" Louis cries.

Nick hangs up, shaking his head, smiling just a little. He takes a shuddering breath when he feels Aimee wrap around him from behind, her knees digging into the bottoms of his feet. "Grimmy," she says, very softly.

He laughs ruefully and pats her hands folded on his chest. "I didn't sign up for this."

 

 

It takes much, much longer than a little bit. It's well past midnight and Nick is curled up in bed and has had several cups of tea. He's wired beyond reason and there's a very, very strange Bon Iver video on his bedroom television by the time his mobile bursts into Louis's ringtone again. If Nick is a little teary-eyed it's just all the caffeine.

Before he can even say anything, Harry's talking. "Hey, babe, I'm so sorry. I know it's late there."

Nick makes an involuntary distressed sound and flails one of his hands in the air. "Harry Styles you motherfucking wanking shit-faced little _bastard!_ "

Harry laughs, and it sounds so, so good that Nick has to cover his face with one trembling hand to keep his brains from running out his eyes and nose. When he talks his voice is the same slow, deep drawl it always is. He sounds fine.

"I'm sorry," he says again. "After Liam talked to you Louis lost his phone and he was utterly useless and Paul still had the other boys', because we only managed to sneak in Louis's. And once we found it Louis just started talking. We couldn't get him to shut up, and he'd get upset if any of us weren't listening. It was actually really funny, but it took us _hours_ to get him to go to sleep. I've never heard of anyone fighting morphine like that before. It took three doses."

"Are you okay?" Nick says, because he's glad that Louis and the other lads are all right but Harry's really the only one that matters.

"I'm fine," Harry answers. "Really, Nick, stop panicking. I can hear it in your voice."

"You cannot," Nick says primly.

"I _can_. Didn't Liam tell you I'm all right?"

It's not the same as hearing it from Harry, and even now with Harry on the phone with him Nick's itchy under his skin, this helpless feeling overwhelming and horrible, and he'd give just about anything to _see_ him. "He told me you and your monster got it worst."

"Well, yeah, but even worst wasn't bad," Harry says fairly. "I mean, not horrible, could've been so much worse. A couple of broken bones and a lot of bruises. Lou and I look a bit like zombies from the window shattering, and Liam got this massive black eye from my elbow when we rolled. I feel a bit bad about that."

"Of course you do," says Nick.

"Really, though, we're all right."

Nick doesn't know what to say. He doesn't have a problem talking with Harry, usually, even the deep feeling sort of shit, but he doesn't know how to describe the way his heart stopped, the tangled ball of dread and grief and horror that threatened to drown him. The way it's still sort of lingering. He opens his mouth to say _something_ , but all that comes out is, "Hazza."

Harry makes this quiet little sound and Nick is _aching_ for him. "Louis's out of commission for a week, so we're coming home."

Nick blinks, sitting up straight in his bed. "If you're having me on, Styles, I'll—"

"No!" Harry says; Nick can hear his grin. "No, really, we're leaving tomorrow night, once we've been in hospital for twenty-four hours for observation. Flight already booked and all. I'll need to see my mum and stuff at some point but—"

"You're staying with me," Nick says at once, firmly.

"Was hopin' you'd say that," Harry murmurs, and he sounds a bit different, voice lower and tired. Nick bites his bottom lip hard enough to hurt.

"Did they give you something for the pain?"

"Yeah. Not as good as what Lou's got, but yeah. S'makin' me sleepy."

"Go to sleep then, idiot," Nick says. Harry breathes a laugh. Nick pictures him curled on his side in a hospital bed, Louis's phone pressed to his ear, and feels his chest clench. "I'll see you in a couple of days, yeah?"

"I'll call when I wake up. Love you, Nick."

Nick swallows hard past the lump in his throat. "Love you too."

They hang up after a quick goodbye, and Nick stares down at the screen, Harry's picture still there, dopey smile on his dopey face. It blurs a bit and Nick closes his eyes and collapses back onto the mattress, breathing hard.

 

 

The next day is torturous. Nick barely makes it through the show. A few people call in to ask about One Direction's wreck but Nick refuses point blank to talk about it and makes sure Finchy knows it as he's screening calls, while Nick fights the urge to frantically text Harry, who is in America and asleep and _safe_ , damn it.

He talks to Harry a few times during the day, and once to Louis, who answers sleepy and disgruntled and obviously off the opiates. He calls Nick _Grimshaw_ and is in general a grumpy little pissant, but he sounds like he's in pain and he still walks the phone to wherever Harry is.

He keeps busy, hangs with Aimee and Pixie, goes out for dinner with Greg later. Once he's in for the evening, there's nothing to save him from Tumblr, though, and it's absolutely brutal. There are pictures of the boys arriving at the airport in Chicago, in startlingly high quality. Niall has a gash across one rosy cheek that's carefully stitched up and a bruise on his temple that's very purple. Zayn's left arm is in a sling and, as he's wearing a tank top, the bruises all over his other arm and part of his rib cage are very visible. Liam's right eye is nearly swollen shut and he's got a bandage on his chin and a cut on his neck, right through his birthmark, that's been stitched up. Louis and Harry _do_ look like zombies. Louis's got a huge, angry-looking knot at his temple and looks like he's not quite able to walk in a straight line, and in the picture Harry's plaster-encased forearm is looped around Louis's back. They both look like they've been through a wood chipper with the lacerations from the broken glass. Harry's bottom lip is split and swollen and Louis is leaning heavily against him, both of them shouldering duffel bags.

Nick has to swallow back the bile in his throat, and he refreshes his browser obsessively for the next three hours. Better pictures are posted over time. There are views of Harry from the front where the cuts on his neck and arms are clearer. There's one of he and Niall laughing at something and his split lip red with fresh blood from the stretch of his smile, and one of Zayn and Liam talking with their heads together in the line at security, Louis sitting on the floor behind them leaning against Liam's legs with his eyes closed, stitches up through one of his eyebrows. There's another of Harry staring exhaustedly into space, looking so pale and obviously injured.

Nick spends the rest of the night chewing his lip to pieces and reading the fourth _Harry Potter_ book, just to feel the jolt every time he comes across the name 'Harry'. It's Friday, so at least he doesn't have to work in the morning, but the waiting is driving him out of his head. He falls into a weird sort of stasis at some point, playing out macabre episodes in his head where he attends Harry's funeral and has to write a eulogy and can't get through it because he's crying too hard. He's startled out of it around six in the morning by the doorbell ringing.

He falls three times just trying to get out of bed, and nearly runs into his bedroom door when the handle sticks the first time. By the time he makes it to living room, he can here Aimee fussing in an almost hysterical tone and then a familiar slow, deep voice. He's dressed in a long-sleeved t-shirt and trackies, even has socks on. He tugs at his sleeves awkwardly, and takes a deep breath when Aimee leads Harry in from the foyer. He looks _dreadful_ , all banged up and pale, dressed in the loose trackies and the jumper of Nick's that he was wearing at the airport. His lips pull into a tired smile and Nick closes the distance between them. He doesn't sweep him up into a hug, because he doesn't want to hurt him, but he threads his fingers into Harry's thick hair and tugs him in by the nape of the neck, gets his other arm carefully around Harry's skinny waist.

"Haz," he murmurs, voice weak. Harry's heavy cast rests across his back and his other hand touches Nick's cheek.

"Hallo," he replies, and presses a smile to Nick's neck. Nick takes a shuddering breath and holds him a little tighter.

"Missed you," he whispers.

"Missed you too," says Harry. He kisses Nick's neck, soft and so sweet. Over his shoulder Aimee is smiling, tears in her eyes. Nick rolls his eyes at her and she waves a hand at him, blows him a kiss and wanders back down the hall to her bedroom. Nick strokes Harry's hair, closing his eyes and just breathing him in. He's safe, he's safe, he's _safe_ and he's here and Nick's probably not going to let him go ever.

"Let's go and lie down, yeah? You need something to eat or drink or anything?"

"Nah, we stopped for a food and toilet break on the way," Harry answers. He's not pulling back though, clutching at Nick harder. "Lying down sounds good."

Nick kisses his neck and his cheek, and when Harry finally lifts his head Nick kisses his temple and the thin cut at his hairline and the side of his nose and very, very carefully his busted lip. Harry sighs into it, presses in a bit harder, licks his way into Nick's mouth urgently. Nick drops a hand to his hip and squeezes gently, slows Harry down, gentles him. Harry makes a quiet sound against his lips and Nick breaks the kiss carefully. He thinks he's probably going to be careful with Harry for a while.

"Was fucking scary," Harry breathes. "Was really, really…"

"Yeah, love, I reckon it was."

Harry gives him a tremulous smile and nudges his nose against Nick's cheek, and Nick wraps him back up in his arms again, lets Harry hide his face in his neck again. "Nick," Harry says, but that's it. Nick smiles helplessly.

"We'll go sleep for a bit and then run and pick you up a new phone, yeah?"

"Yeah."

It takes about fifteen minutes to get down the hall when they have to stop and kiss a bit every few feet. Harry's warm and wearing too many clothes. Nick gets him into the bedroom and closes the door before he peels Harry's jumper off. His torso's just as bad as his arms and face are, a few cuts stitched up along his ribs and right above his bellybutton. He's got an awful looking bruise that's nearly black at his hipbone. Nick makes a quiet, unhappy sound and Harry grins sleepily at him and strokes his fingers through Nick's mussed curls. But he lets Nick lower him onto the bed, crawl in after him and kiss the worst of the wounds on his belly and chest. He sighs very softly, arches his back a little, something subtle and hot and endearing and this is really where he belongs, under Nick's hands and in his bed, curls splashed all over the pillow.

"Not gonna break," Harry rasps.

Nick snorts, presses one last kiss to Harry's collarbone and then stretches out beside him. Harry curls into his arms at once, moving his body carefully, like he's sore. "Won't let you," Nick says. Harry's quiet, breathing warm and steady against Nick's neck. Nick clears his throat. "How long're you here?"

"Mm," Harry says. "Louis's not cleared to really even be out of bed for three days, and they said seven before he can start jumpin' 'round on stage again. Think we're headed back a week from Wednesday."

Nick palms up the arch of his spine, exhales so Harry's hair blows about. "Mine 'til then."

Harry looks up at him through long eyelashes and grins, "Yours 'til always, babe," he says, easy as anything, and Nick's chest aches. A good ache.

"Yeah," he says, smiling against Harry's curls. "Mine 'til always."

 

 

**THE END**


End file.
